


After Hours

by CinderScoria



Series: her name is jade [1]
Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4358003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderScoria/pseuds/CinderScoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five confronts Sam after the events of Mission Nine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am here! Uhh I'm just gonna put up a whole slew of fics I'm transporting from Tumblr so stay with me guys. 
> 
> As usual, most of my ZR fics involve Jade, my mute teen Runner Five. Just for future reference.

He stands in the back, near the door of the communications center, watching her. A crowd has gathered around her, grabbing her shoulders and hoisting her up when she doubles over. They strip her of her pack and shove a water bottle in her hand. She looks exhausted, for once–Runner Five always has this way of maintaining composure, no matter what. But her dark skin is ashen and there are tear tracks running down her cheeks. He’s never seen her cry before. Technically she still isn’t. Her eyes are hard and angry, like they always are, but there’s something wrong. He can’t tell from here. But he knows something’s wrong.

His hands tremble, so he stuffs them in his pockets. Time to go. He turns on his heel, heading back inside the communications center. The lights are still on and his chair still tipped over from when he yanked the headphones off his head and tripped over himself sprinting to the door. Just to see her. Her dark curls escaping her tight bandanna. The worn leather gloves she’d had since day one. The black framed glasses she keeps in the zip up of her jacket pocket. She’s so goddamn  _young–_ she shouldn’t be going out there, continually going out there, not when she might not come back.

Damn, he’d been so sure she wasn’t coming back…

Sam exhales, and he shakes as he picks up his chair. He sits down heavily in it and folds his arm over himself. He’s not going to cry, he doesn’t think, but he suddenly can’t breathe and it’s mildly concerning. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there, but the door opens and she storms in looking pissed. He has time to look up before she grabs him by the jacket and pulls him up.

“Five!” he shouts, startled. She just glares at him, breathing hard, and for a second he thinks she might actually  _talk,_ just to yell at him or something. The idea of it freaks him out so much words just spill from his mouth before he even thinks about what to say.

“Uh, you’re alive! Yay, fantastic. Good to see you, erm, still kicking. Sorry, I know I didn’t come see you like I normally do after you go out. I was just…” He trails off, not knowing what he was doing. He didn’t mean to avoid her. It just sort of happened that way.

He risks a glance at her face. Yep, still pissed. With a tired sigh he says, “I know. I honestly thought… if I’d known you were still alive, I wouldn’t have said those things, okay, and I’m sorry.”

This time she rolls her eyes skyward, giving a little huff of her own. She loosens her grip on his shoulders and he slumps with relief as she pulls him over to the bench on the wall. Swiping away candy wrappers and odd knick-knacks she guides him down and sits next to him, grabbing his hands. They’re still trembling. She gives him a look of strong disapproval and he flushes a bit.

“Sorry,” he says again, and she smacks him for it. He almost apologizes another time but catches himself. “I, uh… I didn’t think–”

Her grip tightens again. He bites his lip. “I know. I know. I can trust you. It’s not like you’re going to be telling anybody my deepest darkest secrets, eh?”

Droll stare. He actually chuckles a bit at that. “Right. Well, now you know. All my deepest darkest secrets.”

They lapse into a silence that isn’t uncomfortable, but is because he almost can’t keep the tears back. He wants to cry so hard he’s shaking, and he knows she feels it. She ignores it though, staring down at his hands, running her thumb over his knuckles.

“You’re awfully mother hen-y,” he notes, “for your age.”

She sticks her tongue out like the teenager she is. Her eyes aren’t quite so hard. He suddenly remembers that they were going to bar the gates on her and is hit with a wave of nausea. She catches him as he sways.

“Oh God,” he gasps out, his free hands coming up to grip at his unruly hair. “You could’ve been locked out there all night, and I never would’ve known. If we’d barred the gates at sundown, you would’ve been trapped out there… you would’ve had to listen to me talk about how  _lucky_ you are and bloody  _cake rolls_ and I–”

She grabs his chin, effectively shutting him up. When he opens his eyes he sees she’s crying, and that does it. The tears come. He grabs her and breaks down and he’s shaking and she’s shaking but she's  _warm_  and  _alive_  and that’s all that matters. He feels utterly ridiculous hugging this child to his chest. He doesn’t understand why he’s so goddamn attached to her–but then again, yes he does. She’s his little sister. She’s the sass and the slanted eyes and the simmering brilliance behind those slated coal irises and the way she challenges him on everything. That’s why it hurts more than the other Runner Fives, even Alice. Because she’s family, irrationally, even after everything.

He’s the first to draw back and swipe his thumbs across her cheeks to dry her tears. She purses her lips, like she has something to say. He waits patiently but she can’t seem to find the words. He clears his throat.

“Ah, so, I guess you ought to get to bed,” he says, gnawing on his lower lip. “Because you have got to be exhausted. But you might want to stop by Janine’s. I practically had to drug her to get her to get some rest. She’s been tearing herself up all day, so. And me, too. I mean, I did say something was wrong, but, you know. We all messed up.”

The statement hits home. He wants to cry again. “But especially me. I should’ve been watching for you. I shouldn’t have let you go. I  _knew_  it’d be dangerous, if I’d just–”

She stops him with a slap upside the head. His glasses fall off and he actually glares at her for a second as she holds them up for him with an arched eyebrow. But he smiles and takes them, giving a rueful laugh. “I guess there’s really nothing to be proud of here, is there?”

A hard glare prevents him from continuing. He suddenly notices that for someone who doesn’t talk much, she sure does love physical contact. She grabs his shoulders so he’s facing her, and she places a firm kiss on his forehead. He stares incredulously at her.

“I’m, like, five years older than you, you’re not allowed to baby me like this.”

She just gives him a look, waiting for him to understand. A slow smile stretches on his face. “Runner Five, are you trying to tell me you’re proud of me?”

And she gives him an eyeroll, like,  _“It shouldn’t even have to be said.”_  She pats him on the cheek and stands up, walking to the door. Shooting a small smile over her shoulder she flicks off the lights, leaving Sam in a dark communications room, watching as she walks away.

“That’s sane, all right,” he murmurs into the dark. But his hands aren’t shaking anymore, and he can still feel her lips pressed to his forehead. 

They’re alive. Maybe, for now, it’s enough.


End file.
